


the you that is not you

by Anonymous



Category: Rusty Quill RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Ben Meredith, POV Second Person, Sibling Incest, Weirdness, just.. read it. i really cant describe it LMAO, please let me know in comments if i missed anything you think i should tag!, semi-loosely based on "blood is love" au but also not really, themes of violence but nothing explicit, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "this is not a dream and the knife falls from between your fingers, slicing the inside of one of them with a merciless gash. you do not know how to do that. you itch for a cigarette you have never smoked. there are other urges: this is the one that feels safest to you. you pull on a hoodie and buy a pack with jittery hands and wonder what the man behind the counter sees."
Relationships: Ben Meredith/Alexander J Newall (implied only), Ben Meredith/Tim Meredith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous





	the you that is not you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felineladyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineladyy/gifts).



> do not archive, do not send to anyone in cast or crew. if anyone from cast or crew ends up here of their own volition then: hi! heed the warnings, hope you have fun, we have fun here. 
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated! i have so many ben/tim second person brainworms, i am a broken man. 
> 
> happy birthday felineladyy <3

one night, you wake up from a dream about a man that was not you.

he wore your face and bore your name and used your voice but _not_ your words, to be certain. you listened as he taunted a cowering man, watched from behind his eyes as he lifted a knife, point sharpened and gleaming, and plunged it into his chest. ~~you~~ he twisted the blade and it cracked through the man’s ribs more easily than you thought it might- but that’s not quite true. you _felt_ the strength in his arm as he carved through his quarry, and you felt the mad snarl on his face as he tasted blood. it was tacky on ~~your~~ his hands and tasted of rust when he brought it to his lips. he turned your head and watched as alex’s own hands fell away from his own prey’s throat, garotte cinched and angry around the mans swollen neck. alex looked at you with something you _knew_ was love and you woke up with it burnt into your eyelids. you ponder for a moment the implications. and then you discard them. you have too much to do today and you take no foolish freudian stock in dreams.

____

it is not the next day but it is soon the next time you dream of the you that is not you. he is draped indolently across the cushions of a lavish couch, and the silk robe he wears is smooth and cool against his skin. he tips his head back to gaze up into alex’s eyes and you notice he is wearing nothing else. alex steps around to join him and you hiss at the sensation of alex’s hand on ~~your~~ his cock, of his mouth on ~~your~~ his mouth, of his teeth on your neck. you bite back like a rabid thing, just as fierce, as alex faces you with red-stained teeth. you come apart in the cinch grip of his possessive arms and wake with spend on your sheets. you ponder for a moment the implications. you ponder… for another moment. it does not pass as quickly. you wonder what part of you is doing this wanting. you push these thoughts aside but you can feel them lingering, quietly, waiting.

___

(you-dream-of-blurry-images-and-ceaseless-tangling-limbs-and-when-you-look-to-see-whose-mouth-is-pressed-to-yours-it-is-not-with-revulsion-you-know-you-are-tasting-the-salt-of-your-brother’s-skin)

___

where is he?

he is meant to be there next to you, why isn’t he there, why have you awoken in an empty bed, where is the third of your heart that he has carved out bloody and trembling for his ribcage to hold? you paw at the pillows for a ghost and he does not appear and it takes you too many breathless shaky minutes before you come back to yourself. you chant: i am in brighton. alex lives in london. i am not in love with him. it was only a dream. you chant this too many times for comfort but not enough times to believe it. you notice the panicked sweat that lines your skin too late. you take a shower. you want a drink.

__

(YOU-DREAM-AGAIN-OF-THE-THICKNESS-OF-YOUR-BROTHER’S-LIPS-AND-THE-FULLNESS-OF-YOUR-BROTHER’S-MOANS-AS-HE-CALLS-YOU-DADDY-LIKE-A-WHORE-AND-THE-HUNGER-IN-YOUR-GUT-ROILS-LIKE-A-RAGING-INFERNO-AS-YOU-CALL-HIM-PRECIOUS-BOY-AS-YOU-GRIP-HIS-HAIR-LIKE-A-VICE-AS-YOU-GUIDE-HIS-THROAT-TO-YOUR-COCK-AS-YOU-THRUST-UNTIL-YOU-ARE-DONE-AS-YOU-TOUCH-HIM-TILL-HE-CRIES-OUT-TILL-YOU- wake up with spend on your sheets. you. do. not. ponder. the. implications.)

__

  
  


the knife twirls through your hands with thoughtless precision and skill. you consider for a moment throwing it but you do not want a gash in your walls. tim would not approve, of course, prefers it when you practice on a mannequin ~~or his skin~~. this is not a dream and the knife falls from between your fingers, slicing the inside of one of them with a merciless gash. you do not know how to do that. you itch for a cigarette you have never smoked. there are other urges: this is the one that feels safest to you. you pull on a hoodie and buy a pack with jittery hands and wonder what the man behind the counter sees. no, really, you wonder. you aren’t certain of it yourself. you fumble the pack and notice the blood still on your unbandaged hand and you really, really wonder. 

__

  
  


second nature settles in your gut as you light the cigarette, staring at where the skies hold the stars above your swirling head. you breathe in as the dust settles, drunk on the nighttime air. tim is there next to you and you swipe a hand through the ghost of him. the thing refuses to be banished and settles at your side, an ever-constant companion. you breathe out acid air and earth is kicked up beneath you, an endless cycle of cause and effect. fields roll past your vision where there should be towers and lights, and your hand aches where it does not clench around the handle of a blade. you suck in more ash and it does its best to calm you. tim does not put his hand on your shoulder and you look to where it does not rest. he does not look in your eyes with a sadness beyond what you have ever seen in them and you do not lean in. you do not kiss him. and he does not kiss you back. 

____

you thank alex and then you hang up the phone. you will be staying with him for the next week in london and you have not told him why. but he Knows something is wrong and he may not be in love with you but he loves you and he will offer you this kindness. you already ache for the chance to sleep in a home that is not empty. it feels dangerous, but it is safer than the other option. ~~you do not ponder the implications that staying where you are is something that you no longer consider an option.~~

___

you show up at his doorstep with a vacant look in your eyes. he answers your urgent knock with concern and you want to kiss it away. instead you ask him if you can smoke out back and he is- taken aback. he agrees and you walk through his front door and out his back as he follows you like the ghosts that have been following you for weeks, now, but when you try to swipe at him he catches your shaking arm. he says something like: are you alright? but you breathe tar to avoid the question. you watch him ponder the implications. you stare at the back of his neighbors house and finish two cigarettes while he stands with you, silently. you thought it would be better. it isnt worse, somehow. it isnt worse. you remember what it was like to see the bastard that killed your parents dead at your feet. you remember what it was like to take his life by alex’s side. you remember no remorse, only rage and justice, and scream both of them into alex’s shoulder. you are crying on his shirt and he is holding you and he is too kind, far too kind for his own good. far too kind for what you want. it isnt worse but it isnt better. you breathe. you apologize. you pretend you are the you that is you instead of the you that is not you and go inside to play the role of guest. he makes you a cup of tea. it could be worse.

___

you POUND on your brother’s door with an unmatched desperation. he is not expecting you but he opens the door anyway, fearful at what he will see. when it is you his fear does not abate but becomes yours, not his. he says something like: are you alright? but you push past him and into his flat to avoid the question. you sit on his couch without words and he is demanding things of you, answers, explanations. you don’t have any. you have too many. you want- too much. you tell him-

everything.

one night i dreamt (you say) of a me that was not me. he killed a man (you say) and he did it with pride. he killed many men (you say) and he was me. he killed many men (you say) and i wake up with his crimes on the back of my teeth. i wake up knowing how to twirl a knife, i wake up knowing how to gut a man, i wake up knowing how to hide a body, i wake up-

pause, breathe-

i wake up knowing the taste of alex’s skin, you say, and he looks- lost. alex? he says, and you say yes, alex, you say i wake up knowing how he kills a man, i wake up knowing how he kills a man with me, i wake up knowing how he kills a man for me, i wake up knowing how he kills many men for me, i wake up knowing how he kills a man for-

pause, breathe-

i wake up knowing how he kills a man for us, you say, and he looks- scared. us? he says, and you say yes, us, you say i wake up knowing how you kill a man, i wake up knowing how you kill a man with me, i wake up knowing how i kill a man for you, i wake up knowing how i kill many men for you, i wake up knowing the taste of your skin-

pause. breathe.

he looks…

mine? he says, small, timid. you look away. yours, you say, small, timid. empty. hollowed out. yours, you say again, and you look back. you say it into his eyes. _yours,_ you say, full, wanting.

have you told alex? he says, and you say i cant. you told me, he asks, and you say i had to. it had to be you. why? he says, and you say i am not in love with alex. he takes a moment to ponder the implications.

he sits next to you on the couch. you watch him smell the cigarette smoke clinging to your skin. you smoke? he does not ask. you think you could- and you reach out, and touch his face, and it does not go through him. he looks in your eyes with a sadness beyond what you have ever seen in them and you lean in. you

_kiss him-_

and he 

_kisses you back._

___

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” is your mantra as you press into him, as he hisses and clings to you. _“fuck,”_ you say, as he tightens around you. “i love you,” you breathe, and he breathes it back. “fuck, i love you, tim, god, i love you, please-” and he says “please please please” and you grab his cock and pull and you feel his come against your stomach and it is not long before you are undone just the same.

___

you lick into his mouth and he lets you, wanting, you taste him and it tastes just like you dreamed. you hold him and fold your legs between his legs and if you could be closer, if you could burrow into him, you would. you break the kiss and he arches up, petulant, needy. you chuckle at his desperation and whisper a question in his ear. his breath hitches and his hips twitch and you feel his need against your leg, urgent and wanting. “ _yeah,”_ he says, and you say: “yeah what?” he swallows and whispers “yes daddy” and presses again against your leg. “so good for me,” you say, and he moans low and deep in his chest. “you’re so fucking pretty, god, need me so bad. go on, use my leg, come on, fuck-” and he does, he does, he does. “daddy’s gonna make you feel _so_ fucking good, precious boy, fucking _come-”_ and he does.

__

“ah, ah, ah,” leaves your throat as he inches down further onto your cock, wet warmth of his throat fluttering against you. his lips are red-bitten and the eyeliner you dressed him up in is smeared across his face. he is beautiful and you make him beg you for your cock. the words are choked by your length and you struggle not to shudder but as he calls you daddy stuffed so full it doesn’t matter. you cup his cheek and he presses into it, grip his throat and he presses into it. you can feel yourself through the skin of his neck as he swallows and it’s just. like. you. dreamed. you want to make him filthy. you want to _ruin_ him. you want him to watch you gut a man, to tear through gore and viscera, you want to watch him hold a knife and use it, you want to watch the world fall at your feet, you want- to come. you want to come. you buck your hips and he chokes and you do, you do come, and he comes with his hand on his own cock beneath you. it is not quite heaven and your insatiable desire for blood shivers beneath your skin, in your veins. 

___

he lets you cut him. you wonder how long he’s wanted you for him to let you cut him. you wonder how long _you_ wanted this before you did. you can’t remember a time before you did. you carve _mine_ bloody and beautiful into his back and turn him over and lick the tears from his face. you kiss him and he tastes like he needs this just as much as you do. you think about asking him how long- you don’t, because you have not spoken much since the first night other than the needy conversation of fucking, and it would feel like a transgression. you just kiss him more, with love, with so much love, and decide that it doesn’t matter.

__

second nature settles in your gut as you light the cigarette, staring at where the skies hold the stars above your swirling head. you breathe in as the dust settles, drunk on the nighttime air. tim is there next to you and you ~~swipe a hand through the ghost of him~~ watch him watch you do it. ~~the thing refuses to be banished and~~ he settles at your side, an ever-constant companion. you breathe out acid air and earth is kicked up beneath you, an endless cycle of cause and effect. ~~fields roll past your vision where~~ there are ~~should be~~ towers and lights, and your hand aches where it ~~does not~~ clenches around ~~the handle of a blade~~ tim’s fingers. you suck in more ash and it does its best to calm you. tim ~~does not~~ puts his hand on your shoulder and you look to where it ~~does not~~ rests. he ~~does not~~ looks in your eyes ~~with a sadness beyond what you have ever seen in them~~ but it is not sad at all. he asks if this is all there is of you, if there is any you that is you left, and you breathe out smoke for the final time. you snub out the cigarette and toss the butt into the trash. yes, you say, and you mean it. and you ~~do not~~ lean in. you ~~do not~~ kiss him. and he _does_ ~~not~~ kiss you back. 

i know what is real and what is not, you say, and you are more certain of it than you have been in months. you have been staying with tim for a week now and you owe alex an apology. you don’t dream about death and blood anymore. you dream about alex, sometimes, but it seems satisfying one thing satisfied the rest. that isn’t all it is, though, and when you kiss tim you do it with real, honest need. how long? you finally ask, and he breathes a laugh against your lips. since you left me, he says, and you ponder the implications. you see him, 16 and furious at your leaving, at your growing, at your going to uni, and you say: i’m sorry. he laughs again and says that it’s better this way, anyway. the bed that is not empty that you share agrees. it is better. 

you go inside.

__

one night, you dream about a man that is not you.

but it fades, and you don’t remember it when you wake. you look at tim sleeping next to you and you are glad of it. it’s good, anyway. you take no foolish freudian stock in dreams.

you are the you that is you,

and you go back to sleep. 


End file.
